


That's Your Lot in Life

by Lucky107



Series: In the Ghetto [4]
Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: Her smile fades until only barebones concern remains.





	That's Your Lot in Life

Briana is touching up her face to the rhythm of a flickering overhead bulb when Nicole comes to stand at the sink next to her, hands wrapped around the cold porcelain.

"Your shift almost up?"

Nicole preens with finicky fingers and swears under her breath when her hair doesn't fall just so. For the life of her, Briana can't fathom _why_. Nicole is prettier fresh out of bed with a hangover than most of the slag Les Dames Rouge attracts - and she's not even on the stage.

Beside her Briana adjusts the turtleneck collar of her black and white geometric print - the unspoken uniform for dancers - to hide the hickies, an indication of her value. "I'm off in ten. Got somewhere in mind?"

"Nah," Nicole says, loudly smacking on bubble gum. "Feel silly out there, dancin' by myself."

Briana laughs and smacks her ruby red lips.

When Nicole drops a hand onto her shoulder, however, the turtleneck dips just enough to reveal the fresh bruises. Her smile fades until only barebones concern remains. "Hey, how you holdin' out here, B? Boss man treatin' you fair?"

And just like that Briana knows that Nicole knows about her side business—the _real_ income earner.

"'couse," she says with her usual spunk and that serves to inform Nicole that she's not interested in talking details. "He doesn't push me, if that's what you're askin'."

"Even durin' workin' hours?" Nicole sweeps a lock of hair from Briana's forehead.

But Briana only laughs as she puts her makeup back into her purse and there's a smile in her eyes when she peers back up at Nicole in the mirror. "I bore easily, Nicki."

So caught up in idle banter are they that neither of them notice a woman standing at the next sink until it's too late: Briana runs straight into the stranger and nearly knocks her right off her feet. She's smaller than Briana by a head and lithe.

Sickly, even.

"Oh," Briana says in her surprise. "I'm so sorry. I—"

But the woman - whose weathered face prematurely ages her - only smiles in response.

Tired and frail hands reach for Briana's broad shoulders, her arms wobbling at the elbows, and in that moment their eyes meet.

When the woman speaks, her voice is hoarse and thick with the local accent. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, baby." She trails her fingertips down Briana's bare arms, a gesture that entices an involuntary shiver, tracing the surface until she finds Briana's idle hands.

They stand hand-in-hand for only a moment before the willowy woman whispers, " _Un autre Nuit Blanche_ ," and departs.

Briana is left staring down at her hands as if she's just seen a ghost.

"What was _that_?" Nicole marvels and she snakes an arm around Briana's shoulders to get a better look.

Together they stare in silence at the Bicycle brand playing card: there's a hand-painted sunflower on its glossy surface, but the black Q is still clear in the top left-hand and bottom right-hand corners.

It's a defaced Queen of Spades.

"Black Maria."


End file.
